THE SAME CONTINUED <br />Yes, Spring is come, but joy alas is gone,-- <br />Gone ere we knew it, while our foolish eyes, <br />Which should have watched its motions every one <br />Were looking elsewhere, at the hills, the skies, <br />Chasing vain thoughts, as children butterflies, <br />Until the hour struck and the day was done, <br />And we looked up in passionate surprise <br />To find that clouds had blotted out our sun. <br />Our joys are gone. And what is left to us, <br />Who loved not even love when it was here? <br />What but a voice which sobs monotonous <br />As these sad waves upon the rocks, the dear <br />Fond voice which once made music with our own, <br />And which our hearts now ache to think upon.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-ii-to-juliet-xxxiv/
